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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24727360">a truth so loud you can’t ignore</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckycharmz/pseuds/luckycharmz'>luckycharmz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, First meetings-ish, M/M, Mickey is soft, Pining Ian Gallagher, Pride Parades, and not subtle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:14:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,685</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24727360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckycharmz/pseuds/luckycharmz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t, you look good.” He sounds earnest, there’s no teasing or bullshit around it, his smile is soft and sweet and Mickey almost wants to turn around to see if he’s talking to someone else. Wants to pinch himself because this isn’t actually happening, it can’t be, not for him.</p><p>But it is.</p><p>or, Mickey’s first pride.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher &amp; Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>170</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a truth so loud you can’t ignore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from troye sivan’s youth.</p><p>also, happy pride month🖤</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey would hate to admit it but, well, he’s been thinking about pride. All month at school everyone’s been preparing for it and taking about it and every corner he turns, he’s met with a reminder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Had it been a year ago, he’d be looking for alternative ways to get around school, to go to class and then straight home. There was no point sticking around, watching kids wear bright colors that yelled their sexuality while he sulked. While he had to go home to his piece of shit homophobic father and hide who he was. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But the thing is, that was a year ago and a lot changes in a year. Like Terry getting shanked in prison for instance and Mickey realizing he can finally fucking breathe after 22 years of life.</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey’s sitting in the cafeteria, a book in front of him while the other one continuously feeds him over cooked fries. He stops when someone sits in front of him, still reading and not caring to look up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Mickey.” It’s Alex, the only person he can tolerate in this school and that’s saying enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes pause on the last read word before looking up with his brows raised.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Interrupting a little <em>me time</em>, am I?” She’s got a grin on her face as she leans forward excitedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off. What’d ya want?” He pops another fry into his mouth, still tastes like shit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I was wondering... if you’d wanna participate this year in the parade. I know it’s not exactly your <em>thing</em> but it could be fun, y’know?” She rattles off and by the end of it she’s leaning back in her seat, as if Mickey might explode and again, a lot changes in a year.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’d I be doing?” He asks instead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not much but I figure you don’t exactly wanna be front and center. There’s a few booths our school is in charge of; water booth, kissing booth and selling pride shirts for lgbtq organizations.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey mules it over, kissing booth is out of option because fuck no. Selling shirts seems like too much math, calculating, back and forth crap that he’s not up for. So that leaves the water booth and that seems easy enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Water booth sounds good. When?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“June 1st, like you don’t know.” She tilts her head and maybe she’s got him there. She tells him where he’ll be standing and what time to be there along with other minuscule details before leaving.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey finds the corners of his mouth upturn as he reads, no fear or worry taking over nor settling in the back of his mind.</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He comes home to Mandy and her not so shitty boyfriend watching a movie. He makes his way to the kitchen to grab a beer, just as he turns, Mandy’s there.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus fuck, Mandy.” He takes a step back, his heart beating out of his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pussy.” She smiles and hops onto the counter. “Noah’s taking me to his cottage. You said you’d come for the weekend next time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, whatever.” He waves her off and takes a swig of his beer. “When?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Think it’s the first week of June. Pack your shit, bitch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just as Mickey’s walking away, he stops because no way is he going and <em>no fucking way</em> is he telling Mandy where <em>he’s</em> going. Sure he’s out to her and all that but if she finds out, she’ll come and going to pride is gay enough, he doesn’t need his annoying fucking sister there too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh, I got shit to do that weekend.” Mickey mumbles while walking away and slams his door shut.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on, Mickey. It’s not like you go to a cottage with a lake view everyday!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>It’s not like I fucking go to pride everyday</em>, he says to himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off.” Is what he says to her. “I’ll go some other time. What’s the big fuckin deal?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mandy tells Mickey he can go to boystown and get fucked another day and he has to laugh because that’s <em>so far </em>from the truth that he tells her he doesn’t care. </span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s June 1st, Pride Month.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wakes up earlier than he ever has, the sun is just peaking behind the clouds and Mickey feels light, excited. He showers, throws on his cleanest pair of jeans and a sleeveless black shirt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time he’s got some food in himself, it’s seven. Mandy and her boyfriend still asleep as he sneaks out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He makes his way onto the L and with each stop, more and more people with their faces painted and colorful clothes pile in and then they’re all scattering out at once. The closer he walks, the louder it gets and then he can see the CHICAGO PRIDE banner he’s seen and passed by every year. But this year it gets to see it and pass <em>through it</em> instead. </span>
</p><p class="p2">He meets Alex, they set the booth up and Mickey sits behind it. Still waiting for more people to make their way here as he looks around. There’s balloons of all colors every where. Assorted pinks ones together, rainbow ones, yellow-blue-pink ones, amongst many more. He takes his phone out and types in what some of the colors represent; pansexual, lesbian, non binary.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s clicking link after link and reading on them, fascinated by each one until he realizes he has a job.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He bookmarks the page and puts his phone away, eyes still everywhere else. The DJ is set up and playing not so horrible music, there’s color and glitter exploding everywhere in no time and energy that is unattainable.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With each passing moment he’s seeing someone or something different. A group of people with costumes and makeup done up, he remembers Mandy telling him about it, drag queens. He sees two boys walking hand in hand, couldn’t be older than eighteen, and they’re both laughing, carefree.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes shift to another booth that’s painting flags on cheeks, on arms, throwing glitter on their bodies and running it through their hair. He looks at himself and sees his dark clothes, no color or glitter, he thinks no matter how hard he tries to not stand out, he always does.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eventually the parade begins, thousands gather and walk, holding signs; </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">God made us Queer,</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Love is Love, </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How about we just cuddle? Asexual &amp; Proud.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey mentally tells himself to search that word up later.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eye catch onto two signs, for some reason they hit him hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>We love our lesbian daughters. </em>
</p><p class="p1"><a href="https://i.ibb.co/ckW428y/5480482-A-4-BE4-4137-B697-BF48-EE743-FF4.jpg"><em>Dads for lesbians</em></a>.</p><p class="p1">He finds his eyes water for a split second, his mouth dries. Somewhere, deep in his mind, in his heart, he wishes he had that. Parents who gave a shit and loved him and weren’t junkies and homophobes and selfish as fuck.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulls his phone out and takes a photo of the two parents then snaps a few more when his eyes zero in on someone in his photo. <em>Jesus-</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t have time to find the guy because someones tapping the table in front of him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi. Can I get a bottle of water, <em>peas?</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey looks up before he looks down, the girl couldn’t be older than seven. Her red hair is tied up and there’s two small flags on each of her cheek, cute fucker.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Depends, kid. You wanna tell me where your parents are?” He asks, looking around for any sign of them but he sees no one.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um..” The girl turns with a frown then her eyes light up. “<em>Een!</em>” She yells out, waving her small arm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’d I say about walking around, Fran? You can’t just go on your own.” He shakes his head and picks her up. He throws her into the air and catches her, Mickey’s eyes are transfixed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Of course</em>, Mickey thinks, the one guy his eyes had caught instantly has to be married and with a kid and out of his range.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi, Mickey.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey’s shaken back to reality, focusing on the six-foot redhead whose voice is low and husky and apparently knows his name.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The fuck you know my name?” He asks, grabbing two bottles and swallowing the lump in his throat. The guy points and Mickey follows his finger, looking down and, <em>oh</em>, his name tag. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“Christ,” he mutters under his breath, how much more embarrassing can one person be? The next time he looks up the smaller red head is just running off when she yells,</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bye uncle Een!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey’s shoulders sag. <em>Uncle</em>. He’s her uncle. And the women she’s with is probably her mom. Maybe Mickey’s a bit dramatic, so fucking what.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This time when Mickey’s eyes turn back to the red head, Een supposedly, he realizes what he was staring at in the picture.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man is only wearing a pair of tight jeans, his upper half is drenched in glitter and something dewy and the sun is clearly made just for him with how it’s making him glisten. Like a spotlight that fades everything else out but his flaming hair and glimmering <a href="https://i.ibb.co/YQqTLbQ/7-D6-EB38-B-A8-FC-4792-B53-F-F11760-D9-D0-CD.gif">body</a> and bright smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He zones out.</span>
</p><p class="p2">“Shit, sorry. S’fuckin hot out.” <em>Or maybe it’s just you</em>, he thinks. It’s not a complete lie, it <em>is</em> hot but he also doesn’t want the guy to thing he’s a creep. He takes a seat on the stool and wipes his face, then the guy is standing beside him.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kinda ironic, you’re in charge of the water booth.” He says and then he’s handing him an opened water bottle. </span>
</p><p class="p2">He downs half of it, whether it’s out of thirst or <em>thirst</em>, no one will know.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m Ian, by the way.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Een.. <em>Ian</em>. That probably makes more sense. He looks up, tries to, but his eyes stop on the shimmering, toned abdomen in front of him. “Mickey,” he mumbles, eyes flickering upwards.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know. Read your name tag, remember? You sure you’re alright, not feeling lightheaded?” Ians brows furrow, Mickey thinks it’s worry but he couldn’t be sure, he doesn’t exactly know what that looks like.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You a fuckin doctor, carrot top?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Close but no, I’m an EMT. But that right there is actually called human decency.” Ian smiles fondly, Mickey finds it beautiful.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, okay, tough guy. Hard to picture you in uniform when-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When what, huh?” Ian tilts his head, challenging.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Looks like you jumped in a pool of fuckin glitter is what,” Mickey says then shrugs. Trying maybe a little too hard to look unbothered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pretty sure the point of pride is to <em>not</em> judge, Mickey.” But he’s smiling, loose and relaxed and Mickey wants to be like that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nah, it wasn’t like that, I-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine, wouldn’t expect someone with fuck u-up for tattoos to be at a pride parade either.” Ian’s eyes fix on his hands, the profanity scrawled on his knuckles, the calluses and scars, he can see there’s a story behind it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off.” Mickey smiles, reflexively clenching and unclenching his hands. He loses himself in the words for a moment, how he got them and the pain, he wants to get them covered up some day.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ian’s hand comes into his vision right then and grab his own, a swipe of his thumb and then his tattoos are covered in yellow paint, he does the same to the other hand and they’re covered in red paint. Mickey looks up, awestruck, his skin buzzing. He wonders if Ian can hear his thoughts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There. Now you’re like everyone else.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who the fuck said I wanna be, huh?” Mickey’s takes his hands back, questioning who this guy thinks he is. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“No one. But otherwise you’d stand out-“</p><p class="p2">“That a problem for you, Red?” He cuts in quickly, standing up from the stool but it doesn’t add much height. Whatever, he only ever needed his fists to fight.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then everyone would look at you-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But only I wanna do that, stupid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey’s mouth falls open and he swallows hard enough to know Ian must see his adam’s apple bob. He’s stunned because no way in hell was he expecting for things to take that turn.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kinda cocky don’t’cha think?” His voice comes out breathy and he knows he’s riling the guy for no reason but he wants to see how far the game can go.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t hear you complaining.” Ian looks smug, his eyes are bright and daring, like he’s waiting for Mickey to say something. He leans down, their faces inches apart and all the air in Mickey is spent. “Are you?” he whispers in the space between them and Mickey’s eyes flicker from his lips to eyes to his lips then back to his intoxicating eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels Ian lean closer, his own eyes shut but what he feels is something against his cheek; rough and scruffy, a little wet and slightly cold.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ian’s <a href="https://i.ibb.co/m0Msdsd/43-A0-EB34-7981-43-BD-AF2-E-CB6715-FF2543.jpg">bearded cheek</a> rubs against his own and his eyes flutter open. Ian’s pressed against him, chest to chest, cheek to cheek. He can feel his breath, he can feel the heat radiating from his skin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ian’s cheek slides off and then he’s doing the same to the other side. Mickey doesn’t know when it happens but along the way one of his hands finds its way to Ian’s hip, touching, holding, pulling him closer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Ian moves back, Mickey’s left staring up at him in shock but mostly need. Watching, wishing, wanting <em>more</em>. Closer, tighter, warmer, <em>him</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“Now it looks like <em>you</em> jumped in the pool with me.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey doesn’t register the words right away but then a hand flies up to his cheek and before he can wipe it off, Ian’s catching his hand. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“Don’t, you look good.” He sounds earnest, there’s no teasing or bullshit around it, his smile is soft and sweet and Mickey almost wants to turn around to see if he’s talking to someone else. Wants to pinch himself because this isn’t actually happening, it can’t be, not for him.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it <em>is</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“You do this to all the guys at the parade, Ian?” He takes a step back, a step away from the bubble he’s in but only finds himself sinking deeper.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He hears Ian’s name being called out, watches as he turns then he’s walking backwards.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just the ones with profanity for knuckle tattoos!” He winks at Mickey and it takes about everything in Mickey to not grab his hand and pull him back in. To keep the one thing that makes his heart beat, from leaving.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re hard to miss, Mickey Milkovich. Check your pocket!” He doesn’t remember telling him his last name but looks down to check his pocket anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Ian 5561-7342</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he looks back up, he’s gone. The crowd is bright and beautiful but after seeing Ian, it seems dull now.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He hands out water for the next few hours, mind still on him. He</span><span class="s1"> switches out with another student to enjoy the rest of the day. He buys a silver keychain</span><span class="s1">, </span>it’s small and circular, carved on one side is <a href="https://i.ibb.co/9GF0J1f/BA3-E8-DC9-CCF2-4614-8-F5-A-1911-D8-F0-C0-A1.jpg"><em>love is love</em></a>. He catches his reflection in a building and finds himself touching his cheek, it’s colorful and shiny, reminds him of Ian.</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Mickey: [selfie attached: Mickey flipping the camera off] Fuck you. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2">Not even a minute goes by and Ian replies. Mickey thinks Ian must’ve been waiting.</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Ian: </span> <span class="s2">😍</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Ian: You put the sun to shame</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mickey looks up, looks around, schooling his smile but the more he looks, the more he realizes he doesn’t have to. So he doesn’t.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Mickey: Shut up</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Mickey: Never told you my last name. You a creep?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Ian: We’re in the same advanced art course</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Ian: Like I said, you’re hard to miss. Guess I got lucky that you finally noticed me .. all it took was being half naked, huh? <br/></span> </em>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Five years later when they go to pride together, Ian holds a sign made by them that says <em>MARRIED TODAY</em>. They’re hand in hand much like Mickey had seen those two boys do, wishing it was him. Today it is him, so when he looks down at his knuckles, he feels just as they say; <em>FREE BIRD.</em></span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yes ian is in school and an emt but that’s part time for now, he’s going to college for the very reason to educate himself on being a paramedic. he does love art but maybe he took that course because of another reason too..</p><p>mickey on the other hand is a bookworm but will not hesitate to fight. he’s an art major because isn’t that obviously canon? and he mostly made the pride sign with oil paints and watercolors and it’s perfect. and yes his tattoos by the end no longer say fuck u-up, instead, free bird, to symbolize how he feels and how ian made him feel the moment he stepped into his life.</p><p>..leave a comment. 🖤</p></blockquote></div></div>
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